


Music in my Mind

by enjolras_lexa



Series: Brakebills and Further (Q/E) [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Author is trans and projecting heavily m'kay?, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Depression, Eliot likes Thai food sometimes, F/M, Fillory (The Magicians), Internalized Transphobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, Protective Eliot Waugh, Q is insecure okay we know this already, Quentin Coldwater Lives, References to Transitioning, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Trans Quentin Coldwater, mostly follows book 1 but with some show stuff, qualice with eventual queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-07-29 04:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolras_lexa/pseuds/enjolras_lexa
Summary: Alternately titled: The Trans!Q AU fic that two (2) people asked for(Title very obviously from Shake it Off by Taylor Swift)“That morning had been relatively normal. It’s a weekday, Shot Day unfortunately enough, so Q took care of that then let James and Julia walk him to his uni interview. They act like a couple, because they are, and he skulks behind them. He has a paper due tomorrow. But it’s all normal, so boringly routine. Barely even worth noting at this point. Mischief managed, right? Except the first thing they hear is Julia’s scream because surprise surprise, there’s a gorram corpse in the guy’s living room. And the day can only get better from here.”





	1. Brakebills

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks in advance for reading! Wanted to start this for a while, and hopefully this doesn’t suck? ❤️

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (All the Fillory stuff comes from the books, except for the bits I made up.)

_an excerpt from Fillory and Further Book 1: The World in the Walls_

_Martin, Fiona, Rupert, Helen, and Jane Chatwin weren't doing anything much in particular they day they first went to Fillory. The five siblings were sprawled in various chairs and sofas about the living room in the little country house, because it was rainy and cold outside. Rupert and Jane were playing cards, and Helen and Fiona were each curled up with a book. Martin was sulking because he'd wanted to go to the seaside, and as usual the universe had let him down. _

_Martin was a tallish, thin boy no older than eleven or twelve, with messy black curls and wire-rimmed spectacles that were slightly too big for his face. He had a habit of looking sad a lot of the time, he just had that sort of face. Right now however he was sad, not only because of the weather but also because his siblings each had something to do and he did not. He knew he ought to draw, or perhaps he could pick up a book or ask Jane to deal him in the next hand. Maybe if he asked, Fiona would take the pack of cards and show off her magic tricks. But Martin felt too restless to sit still. He got up and exited the room, passing a large grandfather clock at the end of the hallway that was just out of main view. An amusing idea occurred to him. He crept closer to the clock, hoping he hadn't been spotted leaving the room. Wouldn't the others have such a fright! He turned the key and opened up the rectangular panel underneath the clock itself, and quickly hid inside, leaving the door open a tiny smidgen. Luckily the clock was big enough for him to stand upright without banging his head or getting stuck. In fact, the clock was incredibly big, when Martin looked around him properly he could tell even in the near-darkness that the clock was much bigger inside than it had seemed from outside. _

_"Perhaps," he said to himself, "There is a secret tunnel into the wall.....and yes I think it does seem to open up! I wonder where it goes."_

_Just then an unfortunate burst of wind slammed the door shut. _

_"Oh dear," Martin said quietly. He groped along the walls until he found himself facing a faint light. "There's the house now," he said to himself. He was trying not to show it but he was very frightened of the dark, and the beastly feeling of being trapped inside a clock wasn't very nice at all. He was much too panicked and embarrassed to shout for help. Even worse, perhaps no one would hear or come from him if he did call out. "I'll just walk towards the light." _

_And he did, but the distance between him and the light seemed to grow and grow. He found himself walking for much longer than he should have been, until he emerged into another place entirely. Even stranger, it was raining there too. "I say!" he said in disbelief. _

The boy reading the book closed it and set it aside. He exhaled heavily. He'd had a difficult day too, maybe even more unbelievable than Martin Chatwin's. 

Quentin found himself on the night after the exam in a ridiculous four-poster bed straight out of his ultimate Hogwarts fantasy next to an attractive, dickish-but-not-monstrous guy, wondering when he’d wake up in his room at home. He was almost afraid to close his eyes, in case it happened.

That morning had been relatively normal. It’s a weekday, Shot Day unfortunately enough, so you take care of that then you let James and Julia walk you to your university interview. They act like a couple, because they are, and you skulk behind them. You have a paper due tomorrow. But it’s all normal, so boringly routine. Barely even worth noting at this point. Mischief managed, right? Except the first thing you hear when you get in the door is Julia’s scream because surprise surprise, there’s a gorram corpse in the guy’s living room. And the day can only get better from here.

Except that it does. Surprisingly enough. That doesn't really happen normally for Quentin. 

Quentin still didn’t know how he passed that insane exam, let alone all the bonus tests from the professors afterwards, and God knew he’d never been the guy that got picked for stuff like this but he’d made the cut (probably by the skin of his teeth). Already he knew he would probably not be the next master sorcerer, but fuck. He could do magic, _real_ magic. He’d done it, today. Finally he might actually be able to do something right for a change.

And that guy, Eliot. He was....Quentin couldn’t think of an appropriate adjective. He’d seemed to defy description, which was just as well because Q would never be creative enough to do it justice.

Eliot had been the one who met him when he'd first gotten to Brakebills and led him in to the exam. The guy had literally said less than three words to him before Quentin's mind had gone completely blissfully blank. The zap of instant attraction (although one-sided) was like an electric shock after his years of being infatuated with Julia. 

He’d been randomly assigned Penny as his roommate, some tall macho prick that had apparently had zero idea what to wear and had instead combined a kind of bohemian-punk styled outfit that Q could never pull off in a million years.

The whole university dorm roommate thing had been causing (okay, contributing to) Quentin’s anxiety long before he’d even heard of Brakebills, and since he’d barely started T and didn’t 100% pass yet and okay yeah wouldn’t be able to be stealth to someone who slept a foot away from him, but Penny had been surprisingly chill. Of course he’d had to pick the worse possible time to come into the room, Quentin was changing out of his interview suit into the key-and-bee monogrammed Brakebills pyjamas. He’d been about to take off his blue long-sleeve when Penny had opened the door without knocking; he’d done a little spastic dance to cover up but Penny has probably gotten a glimpse of his binder at the very least.

“Oh. Sorry,” he’d said. He was probably wondering if he was in the right room.

Quentin’s face burned. He tucked his lengthening hair behind one ear and huffed out a breath. This hadn’t been how he’d wanted to do this. He cleared his throat, trying for a low voice that T hadn’t quite given him yet, and awkwardly said, “I’m Quentin Coldwater, I guess you must be Penny? And- uh. I’m....trans. Like as in transgender. He/him.” When Penny hadn’t immediately responded, he added, muttered, “It’s probably not too late for you to get a different roommate.” 

“No, no, it’s cool.” Penny came into the room fully and plunked a duffle bag down on his bed. Possibly realizing he needed to say more, he added, “Look all this fantasy dragon porn shit on the walls- I don’t know how old you are but you gotta grow up dude.”

Q didn’t say anything.

Penny rolled his eyes. “And I’m totally cool with you being trans, not that it’s my place to care. I’m a dick but I’m not a monster. I’ll leave so you can change?”

Quentin shook his head after a beat. “May as well stay, we’ll have to change in front of each other for the rest of the year.” He turned his back, pulling off his shirt and binder. Let Penny be uncomfortable. He pulled on the pj shirt, glancing at him for signs of disgust, or worse, arousal, but Penny was just getting changed too. It would suck living with a cis-straight guy as attractive as he was, Q was already getting envious, but he could deal.

He read The World in the Walls until 2am, then reluctantly decided to get some sleep, which of course his brain didn’t want to do until after 3. Plus Penny snored. Eventually Quentin’s eyelids started to get heavy. His last thought as his eyes closed was that he’d better not wake up in Brooklyn.


	2. Alice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary Qualice! I actually really love their relationship but it was only good in S1/book 1. After that it just felt forced to me. So anyway! 
> 
> Idk where I’m going with this fic yet, so it might be a while until the next update.

_Martin Chatwin led his siblings through the forest, soaking up the flashes of sunlight in between patches of dreary clouds. "See?" he said. "I told you it was real!"_

_The rain-soaked red and yellow autumn leaves stuck to his boots as he walked. He deliberately jumped into a puddle and made a big splash. He felt light-headed. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt happy. It was as though a switch had been flipped when he'd crossed through the clock into the world hidden behind it. Everything suddenly and neatly fell into place._

Quentin rubbed his eyes. He and Alice were up late studying again, trying to do what was probably a year’s worth of homework in a night. The Physical Kids’ cottage living area was lit by several small lamps, it was dead quiet, and Quentin was slowly but surely losing his will to live. Or at least to stay awake.

Stuff was good. Magic was good. The other Physical Kids were good. He tried to keep his distance from Eliot, when he could. He was developing a bit of an unfortunate crush, that was not alleviated one bit by the guy’s constant flirting. Normally Q just stammered and pretended not to notice.

In his small amount of sexual experience, he’d mostly stuck to dating girls, most of whom didn’t care that he was trans (there had been a few bad experiences but not many). The few times he’d tried to act on his attraction to guys he’d only ever heard the popular refrains “Sorry, I’m straight” and later on “Sorry, I’m gay”. Obviously no one was obligated to go out with him, but having straight guys hit on him while mistaking him for a girl sucked. More recently, gay guys being mysteriously unavailable after coming out to them, sucked. Of course no one was obligated to date him. Or to be attracted to him, or even talk to him; Quentin wasn’t trying to be a dick about it. There was simply in fact not someone out there for everyone. It just wasn’t in the cards.

Being (mostly) stealth was good. The few people he’d told (read: Penny and Alice) were really and surprisingly okay with it. Brakebills was good. It was nice to finally kinda-sorta-almost belong somewhere. He might be an outcast, but here he was one of many.

Alice most of all.

Alice was, more than anything, an enigma. Quentin liked that more than he thought he should. She was bad with people (like him) and surprisingly funny and a little ridiculous. She was insanely pretty. Quentin liked her. He suspected it was mostly because it was so easy to.

They were friends once they’d warmed up to each other, they each seemed to get the other’s sense of humour. It was comfortable. He wore short sleeves in front of her and if she’d noticed the marks on his arms she hadn’t interrogated him about it. He’d been shaking with fear when he’d finally come out to her, but she was perfectly fine with it. Things were awkward for a day or two, then back to normal. The first time they’d kissed, it felt as natural as breathing.

It was nice, Quentin had decided. His infatuation for Julia was melting away like snow in a light rain (he was particularly proud of that phrasing). He no longer had to pretend not to resent James. Funny, kind, normal James. He had a new life now. Things were going well.

Quentin yawned. He stretched luxuriously, pulling slightly at the tight fabric over his chest.

“Shouldn’t you take that off now?” Alice asked concernedly. “It’s after midnight.”

“Probably.” Quentin made no move to get up. Alice looked at him pointedly over her glasses. He huffed out a sigh. “Fine!”

“Thanks,” he said when he came back into the room. “Getting me to look after myself is kind of like pulling teeth honestly.”

Alice seemed to let the comment slide by, like with most of Quentin’s self-deprecating comments. “I think I’ve almost got this.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed now I think. Just feel drained.”

“Sure.” Alice leaned her head up so he could peck her on the lips. “Just- Quentin? What are we?”

Quentin blinked. “Isn’t it a little late at night for this?”

Alice rolled her eyes. “We can talk about it tomorrow, I just think it’s something that should come up. Are we dating? Friends with benefits?”

So far in their relationship, ‘benefits’ had yet to happen. Between depression and dysphoria, Quentin hadn’t really felt up to it yet. “I mean, boyfriend and girlfriend? If you don’t think it’s too soon?”

Alice seemed surprised, but pleased. “Oh! Sure, I mean- We can just see how things go?”

“Sounds good.” Quentin drew her in for a proper kiss. Her lips were the softest things he’d ever felt in his life, and he was getting (metaphorically) harder with every gentle press of her tongue.

The homework was set aside. ‘Benefits’ happened. There weren’t violins playing in the background, but it was nice. It was nice to be wanted by someone who was genuinely good and who was unafraid to say “I like you for you”. Her lips were clumsy, like his own, but eager and playful. He kissed her neck, and when she gasped he kissed her neck again. Her body was soft against his.

So they fell into the comfortable nature of boyfriend-and-girlfriend. And they broke up a week later. And they somehow stayed friends. Things went back to the way they were. 

For the most part, things were good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️ Comments keep me going (hint hint)


	3. Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I added some Fillory stuff to ch. 1-2, that will probably be a regular thing 
> 
> Sorry for the hiatus, I moved so I actually have a good excuse for once but also writers’ block 
> 
> Hopefully some actual Queliot interaction lol
> 
> This is season 1 ish but Mike doesn't exist for the sake of making things easier for Queliot

_A Secret Sea: Chapter Four_

_Martin Chatwin woke up in his bunk aboard the ship _Starcatcher _not knowing where he was. _

_He could hear Rupert’s snores from across the room (or rather the cabin) but he didn’t think he was in their room at home. He blinked and sat up, feeling the floor move and lurch, and remembered. He jumped out of bed, careful not to wake Rupert (the girls were across the hall) and looked out the porthole at the writhing deep-blue sea and the towering waves that frothed and crashed in the mid-morning sunlight. He shivered, knowing all too well how cold the water was this far out in the open ocean. They were returning from Outer Island, hoping to reach the Ochre Sea within the next few days, where they would dock near land and ride wild horses up to the Brass City. _

_ Martin watched the sea move. Like most of Fillory, it wasn’t unlike the seaside in England, except for the mermaids that followed the ship and leapt and dove in and out of the water like dolphins. Martin was mesmerized watching them, admiring how their golden hair and green scales shone in the sunlight. Each little glimpse of them was enchanting, and he half wanted to rush across the hall and wake Jane. She adored mermaids. _

_He squinted at the horizon, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, but it was Fillory after all. The enormous sea serpent he could spot in the distance peeking its head over the waves could very well be real. _

“Hey.”

Quentin jumped when he heard Eliot’s voice, shaking him out of the story. He’d read it a million times, but he could still disappear so easily and get reabsorbed into Martin Chatwin’s world. Those books had been there for him through everything. He blinked, letting Fillory slip away and finding himself back on the couch in the common room in the Physical Kids’ cottage.

“Hey,” he managed, turning in his seat and craning his neck upwards to meet Eliot’s eyes. His hair, as usual, was perfect. His eyes reminded Quentin of the sea in Fillory, dark and dangerous, yet familiar and so unbelievably magical.

“You looked like you were in your own world,” Eliot said. He looked faintly amused. “What’re you reading? It can’t be the Popper book, the only thing less readable than that is Hemingway.”

“Oh-uh- it’s-” Quentin stammered, wondering whether it was worth trying to hide the book’s title, and deciding ‘screw it’. He held it up so Eliot could see. The older boy leaned against the back of the couch, his hands just barely brushing Quentin’s shoulders. Quentin fought the urge to squirm.

“_The Flying Forest,_” Eliot read, nodding, “Yeah I used to be obsessed with those.”

Quentin nearly jumped again. “Seriously?”

“Of course not, Q,” Eliot laughed, but not unkindly. “But it’s kind of cute, your whole fantasy-nerd-shtick.”

Quentin flushed.

Eliot swung over the back of the couch and landed next to him. Their knees knocked together, pressed trousers touching ripped jeans. Quentin knew he should probably move, but he wanted to soak up the contact, not that Eliot would care or even notice. He was so physically affectionate with everyone, Margo especially, and as they’d gotten to know each other over the past few months the near-constant contact had extended to Quentin too.

So much about life at Brakebills made Quentin feel uneasy. The threat of the Beast, fears about not keeping up in his classes, not being a good enough magician (though he and Alice had been promoted to second year and Penny hadn’t, so there was that), the risk of being outed, his awkward post-breakup friendship with Alice, feeling as though he should miss his supportive yet ordinary parents, Julia and James-

Quentin shook himself mentally. The point was that none of that held a candle to how he felt around Eliot.

He suddenly realized Eliot had asked him a question. He came back down to Earth. “Sorry, what did you say?” he asked Eliot’s expectant expression.

“Oh I just wondered if you wanted to go get coffee or something.” Eliot waved a hand carelessly.

“There’s coffee here,” Quentin said slowly, uncomprehending, “In the kitchen.”

Eliot laughed. “God you’re slow on the uptake, Q.” His words were fond and casual but Quentin could still tell he was nervous. “I’m asking you out on a date, idiot.”

Quentin’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He tucked a strand of greasy hair behind his ear, trying to figure out what to say. How to respond to…...this. ‘This’ meaning having everything he wants teasingly dangled in front of him. No clue yet as to when it would be whisked away out of reach again. “I- Eliot-”

“Oh.” Eliot’s face crumpled and restructured itself into an affected expression of amused embarrassment, trying to save face (no pun intended). “You’re straight, my bad-”

“No, I-” Quentin exhaled. _Why is this so hard?_

“Just…..not interested?” Eliot asked.

“_No_!” Quentin said quickly, “I just- uh.”

Eliot let him gather his thoughts. His patience was doing things to Quentin’s heart.

Should he just come out to him? What was the worst that could happen? Maybe he’d be fine with it. But then what if Eliot rejected him, lost interest just because of- and then they wouldn’t even be friends anymore- he’d go off with someone else- what if he hated Quentin after-

Quentin tried to calm his racing thoughts. Penny wouldn’t thank him for letting his wards slip, and these thoughts in particular were personal, he didn’t want the psychic to hear.

“I’m just….not what you’re looking for,” Quentin said carefully. _Yes, that’s good. That makes sense._

“You’re not waiting ‘til marriage are you?” Eliot quipped.

“I’m-” Quentin exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. He looked up at Eliot’s face again, letting his eyes rake across the older boy’s tailored vest. “I’m a depressed supernerd,” he said helplessly, trying to find an excuse for Eliot to not want him. Fortunately there were plenty of those. “I’m not like you, okay, I’m not just naturally good at everything, and things that should be easy are like ridiculously hard for me a lot of the time. I’m just- I'm seriously screwed up, okay?”

“The first time I used magic, I killed someone,” Eliot reminded him. “Look, obviously you don’t have to go out with me, but everyone here has problems. We’re _all_ seriously fucked up.”

Quentin shook his head, trying to clear it. He was uncomfortably close to giving in and telling Eliot everything. “Why would you even _want _to go out with me?”

Eliot’s face crumpled again, looking concerned this time, revealing emotion instead of trying to hide it. He looked at him as though Quentin had just said something terrible. “_Quentin_-”

“I’m- sorry. I should go.” Quentin made to get up, but Eliot grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to go out with you?”

Quentin couldn’t read Eliot’s expression beyond the concern he saw there. “I should go,” he repeated, and this time Eliot let him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Q.....these idiots need to communicate (as usual) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to kudos/comment/subscribe


	4. Trees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ************Warning: sad Q (discussion of self-harm and suicidal ideation)
> 
> Thanks for the support thus far!
> 
> short-ish chapter, sorry

_from The Flying Forest: Chapter One_

_Jane was worried. Martin had run off into the forest after his quarrel with Rupert and seemingly vanished amongst the trees. Jane had tried to go after him, but logical Helen had insisted that the other Chatwins give Martin some space. Jane still hadn’t forgiven her yet. _

_That was over a month ago. A new solemnness had made its way into the remaining group of siblings. The mystery of Martin’s disappearance seemed to have gone unnoticed by the grown-ups. Jane blamed Ember and Umber. She blamed everyone. _

_None of the others wanted to talk about Martin anymore. He wasn’t their brother now. He was just the boy that had run away to Fillory and never came back. Once Jane had tried to talk to Helen, because Rupert would get angry when anyone mentioned Martin and Fiona was too young to understand and thought Ember would send him back any day now. Helen had confided to Jane with tears in her eyes that she thought Martin had died. _

_Jane didn’t know what she thought about it. She hoped that Ember and Umber had somehow let Martin stay and that he was living in a forest house with a kindly sprite or something similar. Perhaps Fiona was right, maybe he was perfectly happy and he’d be back tomorrow with a story of a thrilling new adventure. Jane herself didn’t want to ever go back to Fillory. Helen was too grown-up, Rupert wasn’t any fun anymore, and Fiona was too hopeful and eager to go. For Jane, it wasn’t any good without all of them there to enjoy it. _

_Jane sighed. “Of course he isn’t coming back,” she said quietly. She looked out her bedroom window at the night-covered trees outside. They swayed in the wind that was beginning to pick up. It was very late. “He isn’t ever coming back.” She shut her eyes against the sudden unwanted tears that burned behind her eyelids. She wondered if this was how Martin had felt before he left. He had gotten quieter, more moody in the last year before he disappeared. He had probably thought she hadn’t noticed, but she had. Jane wondered what made Martin look so sad a lot of the time. Didn’t he love the rest of them anymore? _

_Jane opened her eyes. “No….,” she whispered. The tears fell properly. _

_“Hullo Jane,” Fiona said sleepily. She rubbed her eyes with the hem of her nightgown. _

_Jane looked around her, hoping it wasn’t really happening, but it was. It already had. “NO!”_

_They were back in Fillory._

Quentin collapsed onto his bed in the Cottage and let his eyes fall shut.

As storming-offs went, his own had lacked a certain flair. Maybe he should take lessons from Margo, take a Dramatics 101 class next semester or some shit. Escaping a serious conversation to run up to his bedroom felt very juvenile, but he didn’t know what else he could have done. Obviously other than, like, actually having the conversation he’d been putting off for ages and just sort of hoping wouldn’t have to be had. He just hoped Eliot had taken the hint and wouldn’t come up after him. Quentin didn’t think he could stand to look Eliot in the eyes again for at least a century, which was a problem because they lived in the same building and literally saw each other every single day.

Quentin rolled up his sleeves and examined the scars that lay there. He knew he couldn’t make them disappear with magic, but God he really fucking wanted to. Most of them were white now, but a few reddish marks were still healing. Three little parallel lines reminded him of a moment of weakness from a few weeks ago. He’d failed an important exam. He wondered now if any of this was even real, probably he’d made up all this shit in his head. It wasn’t like things were so bad for him. Everyone else went through so much worse; Alice had lost her brother, Eliot had killed a kid when he was just a damaged child himself. He knew Kady’s life before Brakebills hadn’t exactly been rainbows and unicorns. Everyone else could pull themselves together for more than ten minutes at a time and function on a regular basis, but Quentin just had to make things worse for himself. He briefly contemplated the height of the Cottage roof, then decided to spare his classmates. If he’d had any sense at all he’d run a bunch of upper-level spells and _niffin_ out alone in his room and-

A clattering noise from downstairs announced somebody, probably Eliot, was cooking something in the kitchen with reckless abandon and possibly some serious frustration. Quentin groaned softly and scrunched his hands up into his overlong hair. 

When he opened his eyes again however, he wasn’t alone.

“AH! _Fuck_!” He jumped and startled.

“Shut up, Coldwater,” said a voice dismissively. It was Penny.

Quentin tried to get his heartrate to slow back down to normal. “What the fuck? You can’t just Travel into my room-”

“Then fix your fucking wards,” Penny huffed. “I can feel your self-deprecation all the way across campus. It’s pissing me off. Either talk to Eliot, or else just shut the fuck up dude.”

“Stop reading my mind,” Quentin mumbled uselessly. He turned onto his side away from Penny to face the wall.

“I wish I could,” said Penny sincerely.

There was silence for a few minutes, so Quentin assumed Penny had teleported back out. So of course he flinched with surprise when Penny spoke again.

“Look,” he began. “Before I go back to hanging out with Kady, I’m going to do you a giant favour and give you some motherfucking wisdom, because you are a moron and I pity you for it immensely: TALK. TO. HIM. Fucking now, dude, fucking _yesterday_.”

Quentin rolled back to face Penny and sat up. “Not that it’s any of your business-”

“Oh it is. It becomes my business when it gets broadcasted into my head like an exclusive subscription to Depressed Fanboy Radio 4.” Penny shook his head exasperatedly. “Come out to Eliot for starters, and then tell him all your little itty-bitty insecurities instead of overthinking fucking everything like you literally always fucking do. Then get help fixing your wards, because I don’t want to hear your having-sex-with-Eliot thoughts either.”

“What if he hates me?” Quentin decided to give in to the conversations-with-Penny-show that was apparently going on. “You _really_ think he’ll still want to go out with me when-”

“Fucksake!” Penny interrupted. “You’re so self-absorbed- You don’t know anything about Eliot, do you? I can’t guarantee he’ll fucking _propose_, but of _course_ he’ll still be your friend. You know Margo’s trans, right? I mean I shouldn’t be outing her but she’s pretty open about it.”

Q blinked. “Actually?”

“Literally everyone knows! Fuck. She and Eliot dated in high school, and broke up when she came out because El’s like ninety-two percent gay. And look at them now.” Penny’s voice got uncharacteristically softer. “I know you’re afraid people won’t know how to act around you or be uncomfortable or rude if they know, but Eliot won’t be. And if he doesn’t want to date you anymore, I will be your personal Comforter-In-Chief. Or delegate to Alice or somebody. So just fucking communicate your fucking issues before I personally rip them out of your head myself.” With that, he vanished.

Quentin collapsed back onto the bed. It creaked uneasily under his weight.

It was actually pretty solid advice, even coming from Penny. But Quentin, being Quentin, didn’t act on it for a full two weeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment? Kudos? Subscribe? Bookmark? So many options, wow. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one tonight folks   
Sorry 
> 
> Y'know there's not a huge amount of plot in this fic bc I'm just trying out different concepts and getting used to writing the characters but consider: It will be cute
> 
> (Maybe it's obvious but the Martin stuff is from his POV, not a Fillory-excerpt)
> 
> TW for Plover's abuse of Martin (nothing graphic)

Quentin knew he should talk to Eliot. He was sad, not stupid.

_Martin Chatwin walked through the forest, lost and scared. And sad. He missed home. He loved Fillory, but he missed home, he missed the others, he missed the adventure being safe. Though of course Martin himself had never been safe. Not really. _

_He worried about his siblings, especially Rupert. Rupert, who he’d shouted at. What if Plover turned on him while Martin was gone? The only good thing about the business was that it had happened to him, instead of to Jane or the others (though from what he knew about Plover’s appetites, the girls weren’t in danger). He’d better not touch them, Martin thought. He vowed it, vowed that he’d never let him hurt them. Not while Martin was still breathing._

He should talk to Eliot about his insecurities and mental health issues, he should talk to Eliot about being trans, he should talk to Eliot about the goddamn weather. He should talk to Eliot about maybe getting a drink or a coffee or dinner sometime. He should talk to Eliot about the sky, about magic, about fucking Fillory. But he doesn’t, at least not at first. He is, after all, pretty much the king of self-sabotage. And why would Eliot care anyway? Why should he-

“Fucking shut up.” Penny came up to Quentin where he was sitting at his spot under a tree, and smacked the side of his head.

_Martin felt the power surging through him. He’d thought that he’d been tainted, that Fillory didn’t want him now that he wasn’t young and innocent anymore. He had felt for a long time that he was contaminated, he’d felt the stain of Plover’s unwanted touch all over him. It felt like that, like a visible mark or scar. Like being possessed, only now he really was possessed. By something much more powerful than weak, stupid, mindless Plover. He was being taken over by magic. It felt incredible. It felt like choice, like control, like- _

“Ow,” Quentin said, more insulted than hurt.

Penny didn’t need to repeat the phrase ‘talk to him’. The disgusted look on his face was enough.

_The Beast sighed. It wasn’t in sadness, or anger. It was in simple relief. _

_He felt……peaceful. He felt full, he felt real. It was the first time in years, perhaps longer, that he’d felt so alive. Ironic, really, considering it had taken the loss of his shade to bring it about. Shades, stupid things really. They were a weight of repressed emotion and pain. They anchored you to the ground, trying to drag you under after it. Sometimes they succeed. Martin had thought about it before. The Beast wouldn’t even consider it, it was laughable. Self-destruction, so stupid. Stupid, stupid, ordinary people. He was better. He was more._

_That horrible weight on his chest was gone, he could barely remember what had happened now. When he tried, just to see, he was watching it, not living it. It was as though it had happened to somebody else. Perhaps it had. _

“Fine!” Quentin gave in. And he really meant it this time, he really did. He would do it. He would be responsible, and honest, and-

In the end, it was Eliot who talked to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where is this fic going??? Who knows? Not me


	6. Eliot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (all the name stuff is from wikipedia)
> 
> (spoiler alert but the k*ss here is basically the one from the mosaic episode)
> 
> (ALSO : TALK OF DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL IDEATION.***************)

There was a knock at the door to Quentin’s room. Quentin got up, and opened the door. Because of course he had to do that.

“Hi,” Eliot said with a little wave.

“Hey,” Quentin said nervously. “Um-” Quentin put a hand on the place between Eliot’s shoulder and his collarbone, and leaned forwards and upwards to kiss him. It went on for quite a while. It was nice, Quentin thought dimly somewhere in the part of his brain not occupied in making his body kiss Eliot. Somehow they’d manoeuvred inside the room, shut the door, and sat down on the bed, barely stopping the kissing at all. Then the very small, non-disaster part of Quentin’s brain caught up to him and he realized he’d skipped a step.

Quentin used the hand currently on Eliot’s chest to push him away. He sat up. “Uh- agh- I’m trans,” he blurted, in what was probably the worst possible coming-out, of anyone, ever.

“Okay,” Eliot said. He shrugged.

“That’s it?” Quentin asked, after a moment.

“Just talk,” Eliot said simply. “If you want to.”

And Quentin did. He talked about how he’d realized he was trans, and how he came out to his parents (his father especially), and how much anxiety and depression sucked and how being trans influenced that sometimes. He talked about self-harm, and even pulled up his sleeves to show Eliot the scars. 

“Honestly a lot of the time I was less actively suicidal if that makes sense? And more just like, uh, hoping for some sort of accident to just magically happen? Not to be too morbid but what I wouldn’t give for a lousy peanut allergy,” Quentin said almost humorously.

Eliot didn’t laugh. The concerned look he’d had on his face since Quentin had started talking seemed to double, and he hesitated for a moment with his hand half-reaching before he appeared to gather his nerves and cover Quentin’s hand with his own.

Quentin somehow kept talking. He talked about high school, and James and Julia, and how screwed up things were with Julia now. He talked about Alice, and about dating Alice, and being friends with Alice, and how he’d felt about her. He talked about-

“How’d you pick the name Quentin?” Eliot interrupted at one point.

“Oh. I went through a few names before actually, like Andrew which I sorta liked, and Michael which my mom thought was a very classic male name. But for Quentin- uh, well, my dad actually picked it, but I looked it up later and apparently it comes from ‘Quintus’ and means ‘the fifth’, which is kind of random? I’d thought about picking the name Martin after Martin Chatwin actually, please feel free to make fun of me for being a huge nerd.” Quentin laughed nervously.

“Quincy actually means ‘estate of the fifth son’,” Quentin went on, picking up steam as he explained, “And _Quin_ton (with an ‘i’) basically means queen or woman, um, and farmstead. Makepeace is my middle name, which my mom picked, and there’s actually a character named Quentin Makepeace who’s a villain in the _Bartimaeus Sequence_ children’s book series! I hadn’t read them before but I read them, like, _immediately_ once I found the name on the Wikipedia page for Makepeace.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Eliot said suddenly. He rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically awkward and Quentin-like for a change. “I mean I’m not stupid, obviously there are people who react badly, and dating is harder because of that stuff and you never know how the other person’s going to react or what they’ll say. So I basically answered my own question but like- you thought the better option was avoiding me for a month and a half?”

“Sorry?” Quentin offered. “I mean I- I find it…..hard…..to imagine anyone being attracted to me ever, anyway? Like even without….this? But _this_ makes it so much harder on this extra level of awful, you know?”

“Vaguely,” Eliot said, shifting close to Quentin again and wrapping an arm over him. They both toppled, and rearranged themselves until they were lying side-by-side and facing each other, with Eliot’s hand firmly on Quentin’s hip. His thumb did the soothing-circle thing that Quentin could feel even through the fabric of his jeans. “Does it help at all if I tell you that I’m very, _very_ much attracted to you? Like, a ridiculous amount?”

“You’ll have to do it pretty often,” Quentin breathed, leaning in for a quick kiss. “So are you like, gay? Or bi, or what?”

“Gay,” Eliot confirmed, “Pretty much anyway. Like eighty-to-ninety percent into guys versus whatever the rest of that is into girls. So sorta fluid as well, but I mostly date guys. Which works out great in my opinion, because you are in fact a very hot, very nerdy guy. And before you ask, I’m one-hundred-percent down for sex as soon as you are.”

“Oh.” Quentin blinked. “Cool. I- yeah that would be, um, good. A lot good. And just- um. I get people having like a genital preference or whatever, as long as they’re not rude about it and stuff, but, uh for you…..” He trailed off.

Eliot just kissed him again. “Like I said, one-hundred-percent down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said a couple times, the fic has lots of character-analysis ish stuff and low on plot (kinda) so sorry I guess if that makes some people bored?  
Got some fluff and epilogue ish stuff in the next (final) chapter so stay tuned! If you got this far, thanks for sticking with me!


	7. Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter?? Finally?? Apparently so. Sorry for the wait. 
> 
> This is pretty much just Queliot fluff because screw canon 
> 
> Certain Q lines are Jason Ralph quotes from [this interview](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0s6S67khkU&list=FLTyG9scN8dLtVNbJG7XEi2A&index=21&t=2176s) so check that out if you want

Quentin felt.....if not exactly better, significantly less stressed than he'd been over the past few weeks. He and Eliot had finally gotten their shit together, so while things with Alice were still weird and Julia wasn't speaking to him and he didn't even want to _think_ about the Beast, things were definitely looking up. Plus he was two months clean, so not super impressive but not half bad if he did say so himself. 

"What'cha got there?" Eliot asked, kissing the top of Quentin's head. Quentin exhaled a contented sigh, showing Eliot the cover. "That's a new one."

Quentin was lying on his stomach on Eliot's bed, chin propped on one hand and letting himself be completely absorbed. Eliot had made a point of telling him on a near-daily basis that the way he furrowed his brow when he read was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. Quentin still flushed bright red each time it happened. He had pretty much unofficially moved into Eliot's room, seeing how often he spent the night and the amount of books and clothes he left or forgot there. It didn't really make a difference with them all living in the Physical Kids' Cottage anyway. Sometimes he stole something of Eliot's, but the other boy was much too tall and well-dressed so it usually turned out the other way around with Eliot stealing one of Quentin's oversized hoodies. Eliot had asked him if he minded it, but Q had assured him that words totally failed to describe the degree to which he _did not mind_. Like.....at all. So now Eliot stole whatever, all while not-so-subtly trying to reform Quentin's jeans-and-hoodie wardrobe into something a bit more stylish. So far the closest he'd gotten was Quentin praising how hot Eliot looked in both his usual suits and vests and more casual sweatpants and hoodies. 

"It's good," Quentin began. The book in question was called _Deeper into Fillory, _with a dark green cover and the title in gold-coloured shiny lettering. "It's sort of a companion book to the Fillory series, it's about what would have happened if Jane had been the one to disappear and stay in Fillory instead of Martin. It's just like a lot darker too, because it's written for adults obviously but just- uh- like- some of the themes could also be like a magical allegory for depression which is really interesting." 

"You're adorable when you get enthusiastic about Fillory," Eliot murmured. Quentin grinned and sat up for a proper kiss. They did that for a little while, with no intentions other than kissing lazily and messing up each other's hair. Eliot stopped before too long however. Quentin figured he must've looked pouty, because Eliot kissed his nose to soothe him before starting what he had to say. 

"Q," Eliot began, his face turning more serious, "I- I don't really know how to ask this, but you were really not okay not too long ago and I was wondering if you're....I don't know. Like....," he trailed off. 

"I'm just over two months clean?" Quentin offered. "So...there's that? But- you know. I'm just- I sort of had this thing in my head where I'd, I don't know, have this idea of how life could be and then get disappointed? Like....why wouldn't everyone be making it as good as possible? Why would that be?"

He seemed to be waiting for Eliot to interrupt him, but when that didn't happen he just went on, barely knowing what he was saying anymore. "Just- like why aren't all of our dreams coming true all of the time, you know, like- everyone _deserves_ that. And that obviously doesn't happen and it's hard when things just....don't want to work out for you. But even- like- even when- with Brakebills and magic and whatever else, you get all your dreams, and you're this human being who gets everything he could ever want, and then you're just sitting on this throne of accomplishments, and you're still sad.

"So...I don't know." Quentin absently played with the string of his sweater. "I don't know if I'm okay now all of a sudden, probably not to be honest with you, and maybe I never will be. Maybe that's not possible. But I'm..._better_. I think."

"Better is good," Eliot said quietly. "Just....I get so scared sometimes, Q. Don't take off on me, okay?" His voice sounded casual, but Quentin had never seen him look so worried before. 

"I won't," Quentin said, and tried to believe he meant it. "I'll do my best." That he could do at least, if nothing else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this fic was ok? Feel free to comment/kudos <3 Thanks for the support!   
\- EL


End file.
